


Under My Skin

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Universe, Established Relationship, Flirting, Getting Together, M/M, Reader requests, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tattoos, indruck, minor spoiler for ep 34, rating is for language, sternclay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Two reader requests, one for Indruck and one for Sternclay, having to do with tattoos.





	1. Drawn Together (Indruck)

**Author's Note:**

> "I dont know if you're still taking requests/prompts but Indruck going to get matching tattoos? Or one of them getting a tattoo that means something to the other as a surprise? I just think it'd be cute "

They’re sitting in the springs when the topic arises. 

Oddly enough, it’s Stern, rather than Aubrey, whose tattoo is the catalyst.

“Dude, is that an X-Files tattoo?” Jake asks from his position basking on the rocks nearby.

“Yes.” Stern mumbles. When Aubrey and Dani begin to giggle, Duck trying to hide his laughter under the waterline and even Indrid looking amused, he adds, “I got it when I decided I wanted to be in the UP division! It, it made the decision seem final.”

“I like it.” Barclay loops one large arm around his shoulders, scooching him closer and kissing him on the cheek. 

“Hmph” Stern gives a mock look of consternation, but it’s clear the surrounding laughter is contagious. 

“I mean, I got this” Aubrey lifts her arm, revealing a magicians wand and hat surrounded by a ring of flame in a very retro-style of drawing, “After my first successful show because I was so freaking proud of myself.”

“Still think you oughta get ‘lady flame’ done on your knuckles” Duck teases. She splashes him, and Barclay simply raises an eyebrow and points at the “no splashing” line on the rules sign. 

“Hollis and Keith and I were all gonna get one together. Then I realized I, like, didn’t know if I even could.”

“Our enchanted forms can receive tattoos, just as they can receive scars.” Indrid says, fingers curling around Ducks own under water, “I believe the bigger issue is that it wouldn’t automatically transfer if one had to get a new human appearance. You’d have to specify it in the design. And then there’s the fact that many of us have fur or feathers on our bodies, hiding the tattoo if we wanted it visible in both forms.”

“Seems like you’ve given that a lot of thought.” Dani says.

“I’ve thought about getting one on more than one occasion. The idea of art upon one's body is rather lovely. But I’ve never had a design I liked enough to keep.”

“That’s what got me.” Duck chimes in, “Had a buncha plans to get one soon as I turned eighteen and then I just couldn’t settle on one that was cool enough. Now it, I dunno, feels like it oughta be somethin real important to me to get it inked on.”

The conversation drifts into other waters from there. But Duck keeps turning the idea over in his mind. Keeps looking at Indrid, the strange man who flew off with his heart two years ago and never brought it back. He’s never quite gotten over the fact that the other man fell for him, that his enchanting, weird edges fit so perfectly with Ducks practical, sturdy ones.

“Hey, ‘Drid?” They’re walking back to his car later that night, “if I were to get a tattoo, would you come with me?”

Indrid tilts his head, regarding him from the passenger-side door, “as support?”

“Yeah. And, uh, I mean, probably have to go outside Kepler to do it, so we could make a day of it.”

“And if I wanted to get my own tattoo while we were there?” Indrids’ voice has taken on the timbre it usually does when he sees a future he finds interesting. 

“Hell, I ain’t gonna stop you.” He smiles at him fondly as they slide into their respective seats.

“Well then” Indrid smiles, wide and bright, “it’s a date.”

\--------------------------------------------------------

“Well?” Indrid turns the sketchpad around proudly. 

“Looks like an old-timey, tacky sailor tattoo.” Aubrey says.

“Wait, really?” He furrows his brow, “Dani what do you-”

“Sailor tattoo.”

“Or for the love of-Barclay, Moira?”

“Sailor tattoo.” Say two voices.

Indrid turns to Dr. Harris Bonkers, who shrugs and points at Aubrey, “What she said.”

“Ugggggggh.” He tears out the page, and begins again. 

\----------------------------------------------

“Hey, uh sport.”

“Oh, hey Thacker.” Duck sticks a post-it to one page of the book he’s reading.

“Is there a reason you got every entomology book in the county on your desk?”

“Just, uh, just doin some, no, fuck, some re-search...on...invasive...butterflies?”

“Uh huh.” Thacker gives him a knowing look, “well, I’ll leave you to it.” He heads into the kitchen of the ranger station.

“Thanks man. Also stop takin all of Juno’s Milano cookies. She says you gotta start buyin your own or she’s gonna start settin bear traps in there.”

\-----------------------------------------

“Damn, sometimes I really miss my gauges.” Duck directs as nostalgic gaze at the piercings case as he and Indrid wait for their respective artists.

“There, there love, let’s see if the tattoo satisfies the midlife crisis first” Indrid teases, patting his hand, “Ah, my artist is ready.” He turns a few moments before a young woman steps into the room and calls his name. 

A few minutes later, Ducks shirtsleeve is rolled up and he’s feeling a little jittery as his own artist preps their colors. 

“You and the husband getting matching ones?”

“Nope” Duck says, not bothering to correct him. Everyone assumes he and Indrid are already married and he’s quite happy to let them, “each wanted our first one, so we came together.”

“Cool cool. You good in that position?”

“Yep.”

“Then let’s get started.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

“You designed this yourself?”

“Indeed oh, oh ow that bit is more tender I see.” 

“Yeah, it’s gonna hurt more on this little chunk, sorry.”

“No need to apologize, I was well aware it would be uncomfortable. But it shall be worth it.”

“It’s nice that you’re so confident, some people start freaking out that they’ve made a mistake.”

“Oh no, I’m quite sure I’ll be happy with the result.”

\------------------------------------------

Duck gets done second, finds Indrid waiting patiently, flipping through portfolios in the front room, forearm wrapped in plastic. They stop off at a Walgreens for Aquaphor, then consider their next move.

“I was gonna suggest we go to a movie of somethin, but I’m all hopped on adrenaline from gettin stabbed a bunch. Don't think I could sit still.”

“Likewise. Hmmm, perhaps we could so something active. An arcade, oooh, maybe we could play lazer tag!” Indrids starting to flap his hands excitedly. Duck takes them, kissing each in turn. 

“Darlin, we each got a sore spot on our arms that’s gonna hurt like a motherfuck if we run into somethin in the dark. How about we walk some of the jitters off and then grab somethin to eat.”

“Very well, but you owe me a game of lazer tag.”

“You got it, long as we don’t bring Aubrey along. Girl is ruthless.”

\------------------------------------------------

“Ready?” Duck has the scissors at the edge of the saran wrap, or whatever it is they put on his arm to protect the tattoo. 

Indrid nods, a second pair of scissors in his hand. They each cut off the wrapping on their arms.

Duck takes a deep breath, turning his bicep so Indrid can see what’s now there. 

Thacker hadn’t been exaggerating; Duck must have looked through every entomology book in existence. He needed a moth whose coloring matched Indrid in his sylph form, no small task given that Indrid was not actually related to earth moths. The closest he’d come was the Marbled Emperor Moth. Then, with a little help from Dani, he’d adjusted the drawing so that the pattern on the moths back seemed to naturally form a heart at the center. 

Indrid has one hand over his mouth, standing close enough to Duck that his wide eyes are visible behind his glasses. He reaches out a finger, then seems to remember he shouldn’t touch it. 

“It’s beautiful.” He whispers.

“Oughta be.” Duck smiles, the shy kind he hasn’t directed at Indrid in at least a year, “looks like you.”

A fond, delighted chirring noise leaves his boyfriend as he cups his face and kisses him. 

Then Indrid holds out his forearm.

It’s blank.

“Uh-”

“I know, it looks like there’s nothing. Allow me to demonstrate.” He steps to the door, flicking off the light. 

“I got the idea when I accidentally pulled a box of Halloween decorations down on myself. Relatedly, we should clean the hall closet soon.”

A purple glow illuminates his face, toothy grin especially eerie. 

Then the blacklight scans over his arm and Duck sees it; two leaves, positioned and shaped so they make a heart. They’re bracketed by half circles that, as he looks closer, are the coiled cords of landlines, a receiver on each end. 

He looks at the leaves again, knows them anywhere.

“Cottonwoods.”

“Yes” Indrid is still looking down at the tattoo, “Make no mistake, I did not enjoy the effects of that tree, nor the danger it posed. But without it” he’s looking at him now, Duck can tell by the dimmest shine of red reflecting his way, “I’d never have met you. I’d never have been reminded that the future is not as immutable as I fear it is. My futures would not have contained this strange romance that blossomed between us. For bringing us together, I owe that tree a great debt.”

The blacklight clicks off, the bedroom light comes on and leaves them both blinking.

“I had a reason for choosing this ink as well.” Indrid takes his glasses off.

The tattoo is now clearly visible on the chitin of his upper right arm. 

“I’m not quite sure of the science behind it, but the ink needed to create that effect on my human skin shows a rather lovely color on my Sylph form. I wanted it to be something I could see even if I had to go without my enchantment.” He opens all four arms and Duck steps into them, a puzzle piece that long ago found its place. 

“Shall we figure out a sleeping arrangement that doesn’t irritate our new adornments?”

“In a minute” Duck traces a hand along Indrids chest, drinking in to new pattern on his arm. Knowing from the feeling of loving eyes on his skin that Indrid is doing the same. 

Right now, all he wants is to savor the picture, their life together, all the strange moments and pieces of luck that drew them to each other. A thousand images and memories flood his mind at once and, with a smile of pure love, he rests his head against the body of the (moth)man he loves.


	2. Fated (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested: A standard soulmates with names tattooed onto the skin with sterns just saying BIGFOOT, but I think it would be more interesting if he had Barclay's sylph name written on his skin. Maybe that's part of why he joined UP on the chance to either find the source of the lettering and also maybe his soulmate. And Barclay FLIPS because it probably gets shown at a really personal moment when he Decided whether or not to trust stern and then this happens.

The alarm blares, but the figure laying in bed has been awake for the better part of two hours. He’s spent the entire time staring at his arm. 

He’d been excited, as most people are, to wake up on his sixteenth birthday and find the name of his soulmate etched into his arm. 

But in place of a name in plain english, his arm now bears a series of indecipherable shapes. 

The part of him delighting in the mystery is succumbing to the part where he has to be to school in two hours and everyone and their goddamn uncle is going to want to see the writing. Everyone is going to know that Joseph Stern, local goody two-shoes weirdo, can’t even have a normal soulmark. 

Lucky fucking him. 

\---------------------------------------------------------

“You’ve demonstrated a high aptitude on all fronts, Stern, so you’ll excuse me if I’m confused as to why you want a position with the Unexplained Phenomenon division.”

“It’s simple, sir. I feel my skills are best put to use in the areas where there is credible evidence of things we do not, but need to, understand but where we also need a man who doesn’t believe everything anyone tells him.”

_And I have studied every code, cipher, pictograph, and lord knows how many other things known to man and still don’t know what the writing on my arm says._  
\-----------------------------------------------------------

They gave him this room on purpose, he’s sure of it. 

The bulbs all flicker, the bed sags, and the linens have an odd smell. 

But worst of all, the shower isn't working. 

This would not be ideal under any circumstance, but it’s even less so given that Stern has been out on recon all day and got covered in mud. 

There’s no one at the front desk when he calls, and so he heads out in search of someone who might take pity on him. 

He walks right into them. Literally.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, uh, Barclay right?” He looks up, meeting the surprised, somewhat skittish gaze of the chef, who must have stepped out of the kitchen just as he walked past. 

“No, uh, no problem, Agent Stern. Something I can help you…” Stern watches as the taller man takes in his mud-caked state.

“The shower is broken.” Stern replies flatly to the question in his eyes.

“Oh, uh, sorry to hear that. We;ll get someone in tomorrow to fix it up.”

His expressions are at war. If Stern weren’t so exhausted, they’d be fascinating to watch.

“In the uh, the meantime, you can use my shower if you want.” 

“That would be wonderful, Thank you.” Stern says softly.

“If you got, like, shampoo or stuff you need to grab, my rooms at the very end of the hall, left hand side. I’ll meet you there.”

In retrospect, Stern should have been more wary of a relative stranger inviting him into his room in the middle of the night. But he’s tired and sticky and Barclay even gives him an extra-fluffy robe, gaze determinedly fixed at the ground even though Stern has a towel around his waist. 

The knock comes on the door around 12 the next day, and he’s surprised to find Barclay, toolbox in hand, on the other side.

“Here to fix the shower.” 

“Do you do all the work around here?”

Barclay shrugs, “not all, but a lot. Not a ton of money coming in.” He heads into the bathroom, begins examining the shower. Stern turns back to his paperwork.

Then he turns back, “Thank you, again. For last night.”

“Oh, uh, no problem.” Barclay gives a brief smile, then grunts as he wrestles with the rusted over showerhead. 

They work in silence, save for a sudden “shit” from Barclay.

“Uh, gonna have more of an angle to it than it used to.”

Sterns impressed (and a bit turned on though he ignores this) at the fact that Barclay managed to accidentally bend a metal pipe. 

Soon there’s the sound of falling water. When it shuts off, Barclay steps out, wiping his hands on a rag.

“You should be all set” his eyes flick towards the nightstand, “Oh, no way! I love _The Cuckoos Calling_.”

Interest and excitement at his first non-work or other practicality-related conversation stirs in Sterns chest, “It’s one of the books I always bring on a trip. I love the prose, I've read it a dozen times.”

Barclay’s smile is unguarded this time, “The whole series is so amazing. Have you read _The Western Cabin_?”

Stern shakes his head, “It doesn’t ring a bell.”

“It’s incredible. It has that same mystery and isolation combination. I think I still have my copy somewhere, if you want to borrow it.”

“That would be wonderful.” 

“I’ll bring it by later, after I’m done in the restaurant. See you later, Agent Stern.”

“See you then. And please, call me Joseph.”

\----------------------------------------------------

Barclay does come by with the book, then another two days later when Stern finishes the first. Stern takes to doing his more mundane paperwork in the restaurant, so he and Barclay can talk about books, then about work, then about anything that comes to mind. 

And if Stern happens to watch Barclay when he bends over, or the way his muscles flex when he lifts various heavy objects, well that’s just a nice bonus of the company.

It’s during one afternoon when a group of snowbirds come in to eat. They’re rude in general, in that way of people who have always had the world make space for them, who always get what they want, and believe this happens because of their own merit rather than luck and privilege. 

They’d be merely obnoxious, if it weren’t for how they’re treating Barclay.

“Hey, pal, how about shaking a leg with those waters?”

“Ugh, this table is filthy, some people just don’t take pride in their work.”

He shoots sympathetic glances Barclays way whenever he can, makes sure to grab his own coffee refills from the back to spare him having one more thing to manage. 

It’s when what he assumes is the father of the group, a man wearing a sweatshirt proudly proclaiming his hair-trigger temperament and access to firearms on the back, begins making remarks about Barclay’s skin tone and how that explains the quality of service (at a volume that means Barclay has no choice but to hear it), that Stern has had enough. 

“Excuse me” he says politely, voice quiet, “but if you do not pay your full bill, plus a generous tip. In the next two minutes and then leave, I will be forced to demonstrate some of my personnel removal training.” Here he flips open his badge, makes sure they all see it, then turns on his heel.

When he looks back over, there’s cash on the table and a flurry of movement out the door. 

Barclay comes over a moment later with his usual lunch.

“Thanks, agent.”

“Why, whatever for?”

Barclay arches an eyebrow, says simply, “pest removal.”

Stern can’t prove they’re connected, but two nights later Barclay asks if he’s like to watch Saturday Night Dead in his room. Stern readily agrees. 

The movie is worse than normal, boring as well as bad, and Stern grows drowsy, rests his head on Barclays shoulder. The larger man stiffens momentarily, but then relaxes. 

Stern has no idea when he falls asleep, only that he wakes up sometime later, curled against Barclay. He contemplates moving back to his room. But then Barclay sighs happily in his sleep, hair falling across his eyes, and Stern decides to hell with, and cuddles closer. 

They sleep together more and more frequently. Never in the sexual sense, though Stern would be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamed of that often. Instead, they’re often in each other's rooms late at night, and are comfortable enough with one another to cuddle up together. Stern can’t put his finger on why Barclay makes him feel safe. The cook always jokes that he never thought he’d feel so comfortable with the FBI being in his bed, but that Stern is a calming presence. 

Sterns waiting for one such meeting when Barclay stumbles into the room, looking harried.

“I, uh, can’t make it tonight, there’s been a-”

“Jesus, Barclay, you’re hurt.” Stern springs up.

“It’s nothing bad, just had a bad spill while I was out in the woods.”

“Here, let me help, at least with the ones on your face.” He indicates that Barclay should sit on the bed, hurries into the bedroom to grab his first aid kit. 

He rolls up his sleeves, sets to work cleaning the myriad of scratches and cuts, “I’m glad you’re alright. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you were gone.” He’s so busy tending to him that his words don’t catch up with him until Barclay speaks.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…” he tightens his grip on the washcloth he’s using to clean away the dirt and blood, “I care about you deeply, Barclay. You’re one of the people who’s been kindest to me here at the lodge but, well, it would be a lie to say I hadn’t become attached to you in other ways.”

Barclays face is only inches away.

“Are you saying you have a crush on me, Joseph?” A knowing smile is pushing the confusion on Barclays face to the side. 

“Yes.” Stern locks eyes with him, and then they’re moving towards one another, Barclays hands gripping his shoulders, breath coming in shallow, anticipatory pants.

But they stop a millimeter before the kiss. 

Barclay is looking down, at the writing on Sterns arm.

“I, I have to go.”

He’s off the bed and out the door before Stern can even form an explanation. The agent slumps down on the floor, leaning against the mattress. 

The luck of Joseph “weird shit keeps happening to me and ruining my love life” Stern continues.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“He had my name on his arm!” Barclay is pacing frantically in Mama’s office, the older woman and Aubrey both trying to calm him down. 

“So, I have Dani’s name on mine?” Aubrey points to her forearm.

“He had it in Sylph! What the fuck?!" 

“Okay that’s weird.”

“Thanks, Aubrey” he says flatly. 

“Much as I’d love to see you with someone who makes you happy, him bein who he is is a big fuckin problem” Mama muses. 

“I have to skip town. I have to move to Alaska, I have to-”

“You have to calm down.” Mama rests a hand on his shoulder, “And maybe give Stern a wide berth for awhile. Wait,” her eyes narrow, “he doesn’t know what it says, does he?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Thank fuck, because that’d be an extra helpin of trouble that we don’t need.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

He’s fucked up. 

Barclay won’t say more than a few polite words to him. He doesn’t come for movie night anymore, doesn’t ask Stern if he wants to join him for a late night soak in the springs. 

It wouldn’t be the first time someone saw that soulmark and decided Stern was somehow too weird to bother with. 

He’s multitasking, doing his paper work and feeling sorry for himself in the lobby, when Jake Coolice walks by, then walks backwards to look at him again.

“Dude, you really committed huh?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You got Bigfoots name tattooed on your arm.” Jake points at his soulmark

“I...what?” 

Jakes about to say something else when a pen hits his head. They both look over at Moira, who doesn’t appear to have thrown anything, but is giving Jake a stern look. 

Stern stares at his soulmark. 

Maybe Barclay wasn’t freaked out by it for the reasons he thought he was. 

There’s only one way to find out.

\-----------------------------------------

Barclay jumps a foot in the air when Stern bursts into the kitchen.

"You know what it says, don't you?"

"Uh, no?"

"Barclay, please" he's to him now, one hand resting on his arm, "please don't lie to me. I've spent decades wondering what these letters mean. Trying to decipher them set me on my career path. I thought I'd never know."

"Joseph, I can't, for your sake and for mine-" Barclay steps back, tries to pull his arm away.

"-wait please" Stern grips tight, and his hands catch the woven bracelet on Barclays wrist, pulling it free. 

Barclay freezes as Stern claps both hands over his mouth.

"I can explain" Barclays voice is tight with panic. 

"You're, you, I've been _sleeping in bed with Bigfoot!_

"Yes." Is the squeaked out reply.

"Does...does this have anything to do with why I can't read this writing but you can?"

"Yep. Um, if you give me back my bracelet, I can explain."

Stern hands back the woven cord. Suddenly, the Barclay he knows and loves is in front of him once more. 

"I can't tell you everything, not without checking with Mama first, but long story short: I'm not from here, not even close. The missing people you're investigating were all previous versions of this" he gestures to himself, "from times when I got careless and let someone know about my identity. The words on your arm are in the writing from my home."

"So my soulmark says Bigfoot?" Stern says incredulously.

Barclay chuckles softly, "No, it says Barclay."

"But yours says-"

"Mine is a fake, grafted on to the enchantment that gives me my human form. Where I come from we don't get those marks, so we just pick a common name to avoid suspicion. Not like many of us end up with humans anyway. You doing okay?"

"Yes, the world's just gone a bit sideways."

Strong arms wrap around his waist as Barclay steadies him, "can't have you passing out and hitting your head on my counter. I just cleaned it."

"In my defense, I just discovered that not only is Bigfoot real, but he's also my soulmate. It's a lot to take in." He rests his head on Barclays chest with a smile. 

"Can I suggest a next step?"

"Of courseMphhmmmmm" Stern purrs into the kiss as Barclays lips meet his own, warm and rough and utterly perfect. 

"I can't fucking believe I'm dating bigfoot." He murmurs, amused, when they pull apart.

"Dating, huh?"

"Well, yes, I thought we could, unless you don't want to-"

Another kiss, this one with more urgency as Barclay guides them towards the supply closet. 

"I do, babe, so badly." He puts his hand on the nob of the closet door with a grin, "but how about we talk about that later? Got some, uh, things to 'discuss' with you in private."

Stern is inquisitive, he follows his mysteries to the very end, his life's work is getting answers in places where there previously were none.

But right now, all that can wait. He matches Barclays ecstatic grin and says, "Agreed."


End file.
